Death Knight Box Set

by Michael Chatfield

  It wasn’t silver, but black as night.

  The helm covered all of one’s head.

  Anthony pulled it on, his movements easy as the armor floated over his bones.

  Her body shook as she saw him getting into the armor.

  Death knight.

  There were many categories of undead. Zombies were the weakest, barely functioning blobs of meat and bones pulled together quickly; then skeletons from cleaned bones that had been tended to and enhanced with spells, concoctions, and skills.

  Though there were a few, called death knights, that were able to wear armor. It was better to say that their armor was part of their strength. They were powerful fighters and were juggernauts on the battlefield.

  Though he can speak and understands what I’m saying and—wait, where is my connection to him? What about that heart? Is he really a dark knight? Is that heart his? She looked back at the two untouched sarcophaguses and the sarcophaguses that lay around the temple.

  If this is an undead temple, then there is someone who raised them. A powerful necromancer, or—Her eyes moved to Anthony as he affixed his helm, his calm blue eyes hidden in the shadows of the helm.

  “Or a lich, and liches need to have a phylactery.”

  As a necromancer, I have an ethical duty to make sure that there isn’t a rogue necromancer raising the dead and creating a hidden army. I was just supposed to pass a message. She made herself stand tall.

  All mages especially those of the necromantic school of thought, must make sure that their fellows’ ethical background is up to standard or else the world will only look down on all associated mages! I might be a necromancer but I am an ethical necromancer!

  “Thank you for waking me up,” Anthony said.

  Aila’s eye twitched as she winced at his words.

  “You okay? You got a tic? There was a kid in my town who had it. Punched Old Man Jenkins right in the junk accidentally one time.” Anthony laughed as he shook his head and sheathed his sword, moving for the door.

  “Do you still have your memories?” Aila’s question caused him to halt his steps. Necromancy was supposed to remove memories of the carrier they controlled.

  “Kind of hazy, but with certain things it kind of clicks into place, you know? I feel like if I see some more of the world then things might be able to click back in place and I’ll be able to remember everything.”

  “Why did you help me?” Aila asked.

  “We fight the strong and the armed.

  “We stand beside those who would stand beside us.

  “We stand for those who can’t stand for themselves.

  “We teach justice, not war.

  “We strive for peace, not destruction.

  “We will not look away from the world, whether it’s darkness or it’s light.

  “We are the harbingers, the peace seekers, the blood letters, the god killers and the farmers.

  “To those who know these words, they know our oath.

  “You have heard a warrior’s words.

  “A Guardian’s word is their law.

  “We do not give it freely and do not accept it without understanding.”

  Anthony’s voice was deep and powerful; his eyes glowed as a thin breeze passed over the tunnel.

  Aila felt as if her heart would burst from her chest. A warmth filled her body, power waiting to be grasped even as she felt a cold on her skin and goosebumps running down her arms.

  “We are warriors, our causes are our own, but our oath is shared with many. Isn’t that right, my brothers and sisters?” Anthony asked. Silence fell for some time.

  “I wonder what that is all about.” Anthony shrugged and walked forward as Aila watched him, rooted to the spot.

  Her eyes widened as she saw the back of his armor. Its front was blackened with signs of battle. But on the back, there was a fine carving in the metal. A tree rose up, blossoming on his back. The brown wooden trunk made one unconsciously think they could feel it, to reach out and see whether the texture was the same as the real thing. The trunk led into branches filled with leaves, that seemed to bring a cool breeze with them.

  Aila closed her eyes, thinking of the dark trees in the moonlight—the way they moved, the colors of the leaves lit up in its light.

  I wonder if that is what a tree looks like on the perfect summer day?

  Seeing that back, she felt reassured, his words sinking into her mind.

  Anthony looked back, his blue eyes filled with laughter looking back at her. “Well, Aila Wranoris, are you up for an adventure?”

  Aila looked into those blue eyes. He was an undead, but instead of finding him scary, she found him funny and entertaining. She felt safe with him. There were too many mysteries around him.

  I won’t find out just what they are by hiding in here!

  “A small one.” She stepped forward.

  “That’s how they all start.” Anthony laughed as he led the way out of the crypt.

  They reached the corridor Aila had entered the crypt through.

  “I’ll see you all later.” Anthony put his hand up in the air solemnly for a few moments before he turned.

  Aila was looking at the sarcophaguses. She felt there was something she was seeing but she just wasn’t making the final connection to the answer she was seeking.

  “Blocks.” She realized that they were arranged in blocks. With less people grouped together as they got closer to the tomb.

  Does it not look like the human battle formations where they move their troops, with the leaders standing in front?

  Her eyes moved to the temple and the statues that covered it, remembering how Anthony’s armor had come from a “statue.”

  “You coming?” Anthony asked.

  “Coming!” she yelled, running after him. I need to find that lich!

  Chapter: Through a Skeleton’s Eyes

  “So, where are we? What’s going on? Kind of don’t remember much on that point?” Anthony asked. They were walking through the ruins that Aila had been chased into. It was a series of caves, most of them in bad condition. Thankfully, the devil hunters had cleared them a path through all of the busted caves.

  Aila pulled out a map from the bag on her belt. She turned it over and found a small image of the overall map.

  There was one large continent with massive lakes and rivers cutting through it, mountain ranges and lines for the different areas controlled by different races and empires. Then there was a gray continent to the north east of the continent. Then, to the south of the gray continent and more easterly, there were two large islands: a large one to the northeast and a smaller, skinnier one to the southwest. The two of them were separated from each other by a big channel while being an ocean away from the eastern edge of the large continent

  “This is Dena. We are on the continent Eljir. It is the largest continent on Dena. To the northwest is Radal, controlled by the humans. There is the Stoha Mountain Range that separates them from Selenus to the east, which is controlled by the beast men. To the south from Sranum Bay in the west to the shivering ocean in the east is the Deepwood taking up the southern lands of Eljir, the land of the elves and a few gnomes, or people accepted by the elves. The grayed-out continent—that’s the barren lands. It’s cold up there all the time and few things grow there. It’s called Cheon. These two islands—the big one is called Ilsal and its smaller sister to the west is Epan. Epan is filled with explorers and traders; got people from all over. Ilsal has people from all of the races living in it too: beast men, humans, elves, gnomes, and goblins. Now that’s not saying there aren’t these groups in the other countries. I’m a dark elf and I live in the Stoha Mountain Range, but that’s how most of the groups break down.” Aila shrugged.

  “The humans and the beast men are fighting all the time—they’re in a war. I chose to try to cross the mountain range to get away from the human groups. Then I could work my way down to the Deepwood. I was given a place to go to into the Deepwood. No one knows where thei
r capital is.”

  “Humans and beasts are fighting?” Anthony asked. An image flashed in his mind, a memory.

  He was in a training grounds in the vision. A large man with black, leathery skin was being worked on by a shaman, grunting on a piece of wood as several others held him down while he was given his power tattoos.

  “I think you’re going to need a damn tree there, buddy.” Anthony squatted down in front of the ox beast man.

  He snorted, creating some smoky rings as he glared daggers right through Anthony, who only smiled wider.

  “Little twig like that—what were you guys thinking?” Anthony complained. The other grunted as the ox twitched and they had to keep him still.

  “Come on, you think that a little tattoo is going to hurt! Just think of all the trees you’ll snap with your teeth. You want to see a tattoo that hurt!” Anthony looked around and then rolled up his sleeve.

  A golden tattoo wrapped up his arm starting above his wrist; above his hand, two golden eyes looked out on the world. It was exquisitely detailed. A long dragon, it didn’t have wings, but it had a proud expression, looking down on those dragons that needed wings to feel powerful.

  “Right down to the bone! Permanent too,” Anthony said.

  The tattoo moved: a golden head appeared out of his arm and turned to Anthony, looking rather annoyed.

  “I didn’t mean anything—ow!”

  The little dragon was too fast for him, nipping his nose, just hard enough to draw blood before it indignantly returned back to his arm.

  “See, hurts like hell!” Anthony said, his voice muffled as he held his nose.

  The ox beast man, instead of glaring at Anthony, started to shake. The wood in his mouth broke as he was laughing, causing the table he was on to shake.

  The shaman kept on working, but the ox showed no signs of pain, instead, entertained by this human.

  “You are an amusing man. What’s your name?”

  “Anthony. You?”

  “Troga Kagan,” the ox said.

  “You certainly gave them a lot of skin to work with on your power tattoos.” Anthony grinned, his nose starting to heal.

  “You certainly picked a good familiar.” Troga’s grin twitched as the shaman found a nerve.

  Anthony laughed as the memory was covered with another scene: Troga wielding a greatsword as they clashed with a group of ugly creatures. Then the two of them drinking in a cave and sharing food.

  Them meeting up again after many years.

  Troga was now older as they looked out over a plains, an enemy covering it from horizon to horizon as they stood with others, warriors all.

  Rushing into the creatures, black and red, mixed with purple as the warriors fought together, not like a machine, but an organic singular entity.

  Covering one another with spells, using the cover to cut down the enemy, moving on without pausing as they needed but a word, an action to understand the other’s intentions.

  Anthony was in the middle of the fight, Troga with him; their blades cut through the enemy. Then a flash of purple and Troga was gone. Anthony killed more creatures and turned, seeing Troga on the ground; he had been hit in the side. He roared as his eyes went red, his body starting to regenerate as Troga killed three of the beasts closest to him and charged forward.

  Anthony yelling, but the berserker had taken over as Troga rushed forward.

  Then Troga, his body broken, his armor torn; around him were dozens of bodies, but Anthony only saw Troga, only saw those tattoos on his shoulders.

  “Should have got a tree.” Anthony laughed, tears falling down his face, sadness mixed with joy: sadness with losing a friend; joy, that he had come to know Troga Kagan, the ox beast man, a warrior, a friend.

  “Are you okay?” Aila asked warily as Anthony was standing still in the middle of the cave.

  “Uh, yeah,” Anthony said, his voice sounding dull. He walked forward, thankful that, as a skeleton, he didn’t need to clear his throat.

  “Well, most of the races are fighting one another in one way or another. Everyone wants more of something so there are constant fights, even in towns and such. I heard that there was a time that the races worked together but it’s long past,” Aila said.

  Anthony saw armies of humans mixed with beast men with dwarven weapons, goblins and gnomes working on odd-looking machines. Shamans and mages kept a healthy distance away from them. Elven archers stood between the mages and the melee fighters while mounted elves, humans, and beast men moved between different formations. The memory appeared and disappeared quickly.

  “We’re stronger together than apart,” Anthony said, feeling like the current people of Dena had lost something, fighting one another for a little instead of capturing the future together.

  “Just to recap, elves are great mages and good with ranged weapons. The dwarves are big burly smiths, but they’re scared of fighting. Old race—they hate getting into fights. Gnomes are either insane or genius, make technology and pursue increasing their knowledge. Many of them are hidden away from the world, focusing on their own pursuits. Goblins are terrible little pests if not accompanied by a hobgoblin to control them. The hobgoblins missed fire and went right to explosives, like making anything that goes boom, and replace most of the words in their dictionary with the word boom. The more excited, the more booms you’ll hear. It’s really frustrating.

  “Beast men all get a reading at birth, tells them what their bloodline is strongest with. They’re really good alchemists and healers because they can change one beast’s natural constitution. Changing their classes from warrior, to mage, or healer and alchemist. If they’re not healers and alchemists, then they’re farming to feed their massive and ever-growing population or fighting the humans. Their frontline troops are hell to deal with, especially the older warriors with their different tattoos. Shamans use rituals, curses, or buffs to directly affect the battlefield. All beast men can go berserk; they’ve trained so that they won’t attack their own friends, but it’s well, just don’t fight a berserking beast man—it’s not a good time.

  “Humans are the physically weakest of all the races. They rely on their familiars to make up for this strength, creating contracts with the familiars in the spirit world. Other races can do the same, but the humans have a greater affinity toward it, like all of the different abilities of the different races really. Anyway, the familiars can augment their user, increase their speed, strength, and so on by consuming their magical power. The alchemy complex of humanity is massive. If you can down Mana potions, you can keep on using your familiars. The stronger the familiar or its user, the greater strength they both gain. They can only have it enhance their bodies at the lower stages, then the animals can appear and use attacks or special skills for limited times. The devil hunters had to cycle through who was using their hound so that they could recover. Then there are people who can call the familiars out. Beyond that, I didn’t pay that much attention in classes.”

  “Well, it sounds like it will be interesting. So, what is the plan?” Anthony asked as they exited one of the caves.

  Aila pulled up the hood of her cloak as she looked around and jogged over to a rock. Behind it, there was a pack she had quickly hidden while she was fleeing the hunters.

  “We cross the Stoha Mountains into Selenus and then head down to the Deepwood.” She tightened her pack and started to walk.

  Anthony touched his chest. He knew that this heart wasn’t his. He also knew that it was giving him life—the magic from it, he felt it was connected to how he hadn’t lost his memories. He also knew that only people at the very pinnacle of the world were able to remove a piece of their body as critical as their heart and keep on living.

  He looked out to the east, feeling the connection of the heart to something far away.

  First I will help Aila, then I will find out where this heart came from.

  “Wait for me!” he called out as he saw Aila was getting farther away.

  ***
>
  There was a crashing noise as metal hit metal in a cacophony of noise.

  Claire let out a long-suffering sigh as she held her head. “Damien!” she yelled.

  “Sorry!” Damien yelled back.

  “Just get out here, will you?”

  Damien kept walking, more noise following him.

  Just by the noise, Claire could tell he was trying to move slow so he didn’t make so much noise. It’s not really working, just prolonging the torture.

  Finally, a large armored man appeared from the armory. Claire tapped her foot as she stood in the main hall, her arms crossed. The large armored man looked down, moving his armored hands around and playing with a nonexistent stone with his boots.

  “Weren’t you called the Dancing Wolf? I remember you clearly using a warhammer with the accuracy of an arrow and the power of a warhammer. Dancing among the enemy lines.”

  “Well, I was just swinging it, and it was easier to do—more room than in there,” Damien said.

  Maybe it was the spinning. Maybe if I had him only spin when walking he wouldn’t be such a walking disaster? She then thought of the destruction that he had brought upon his enemies. Better to have him hit over a pile of armor and undead instead of blast a hole in the damn castle!

  She sighed when she felt something change. She put her hand on her chest as she felt moved, as she felt a charge of foreign power.

  Necromantic power!

  “Who dares!” Claire yelled as the shadows in the room started to move toward her. Her striking beauty was matched with the shadows that moved across the floor, bowing to her.

  Her power made the lights flicker and the wind shriek. Her hair flew around her face, her eyes focused on something far away.

  Damien grabbed the hammer on his back, no longer a bumbling fool, but a deadly fighter ready for his mistress’s orders.

  She felt an influx of odd memories and then a weakening of her connection. She took a step backward. “His memories—will he remember, or will he forget them forever?” Hope and frustration appeared in her eyes before she relaxed, the power in the castle dying down.